The Marvelous Land of Oz
center of each flower. These lovely faces looked upon the astonished
band with mocking smiles, and then burst into a chorus of merry
laughter at the dismay their appearance caused.
“Stop! stop!” cried Tip, seizing the Woodman’s arm; “they’re alive!
they’re girls!”
At that moment the flowers began whirling again, and the faces faded
away and were lost in the rapid revolutions.
The Tin Woodman dropped his axe and sat down upon the ground.
“It would be heartless to chop down those pretty creatures,” said he,
despondently. “and yet I do not know how else we can proceed upon our
way”
“They looked to me strangely like the faces of the Army of Revolt,”
mused the Scarecrow. “But I cannot conceive how the girls could have
followed us here so quickly.”
“I believe it’s magic,” said Tip, positively, “and that someone is
playing a trick upon us. I’ve known old Mombi do things like that
before. Probably it’s nothing more than an illusion, and there are no
sunflowers here at all.”
“Then let us shut our eyes and walk forward,” suggested the Woodman.
“Excuse me,” replied the Scarecrow. “My eyes are not painted to shut.
Because you happen to have tin eyelids, you must not imagine we are all
built in the same way.”
“And the eyes of the Saw-Horse are knot eyes,” said Jack, leaning
forward to examine them.
“Nevertheless, you must ride quickly forward,” commanded Tip, “and we
will follow after you and so try to escape. My eyes are already so
dazzled that I can scarcely see.”
So the Pumpkinhead rode boldly forward, and Tip grasped the stub tail
of the Saw-Horse and followed with closed eyes. The Scarecrow and the
Tin Woodman brought up the rear, and before they had gone many yards a
Joyful shout from Jack announced that the way was clear before them.
Then all paused to look backward, but not a trace of the field of
sunflowers remained.
More cheerfully, now they proceeded upon their Journey; but old Mombi
had so changed the appearance of the landscape that they would surely
have been lost had not the Scarecrow wisely concluded to take their
direction from the sun. For no witch-craft could change the course of
the sun, and it was therefore a safe guide.
However, other difficulties lay before them. The Saw-Horse stepped into
a rabbit hole and fell to the ground. The Pumpkinhead was pitched high
into the air, and his history would probably have ended at that exact
moment had not the Tin Woodman skillfully caught the pumpkin as it
descended and saved it from injury.
Tip soon had it fitted to the neck again and replaced Jack upon his
feet. But the Saw-Horse did not escape so easily. For when his leg was
pulled from the rabbit hole it was found to be broken short off, and
must be replaced or repaired before he could go a step farther.
“This is quite serious,” said the Tin Woodman. “If there were trees
near by I might soon manufacture another leg for this animal; but I
cannot see even a shrub for miles around.”
“And there are neither fences nor houses in this part of the land of
Oz,” added the Scarecrow, disconsolately.
“Then what shall we do?” enquired the boy.
“I suppose I must start my brains working,” replied his Majesty the
Scarecrow; “for experience has, taught me that I can do anything if I
but take time to think it out.”
“Let us all think,” said Tip; “and perhaps we shall find a way to
repair the Saw-Horse.”
So they sat in a row upon the grass and began to think, while the
Saw-Horse occupied itself by gazing curiously upon its broken limb.
“Does it hurt?” asked the Tin Woodman, in a soft, sympathetic voice.
“Not in the least,” returned the Saw-Horse; “but my pride is injured to
find that my anatomy is so brittle.”
For a time the little group remained in silent thought. Presently the
Tin Woodman raised his head and looked over the fields.
“What sort of creature is that which approaches us?” he asked,
wonderingly.
The others followed his gaze, and discovered coming toward them the
most extraordinary object they had ever beheld. It advanced quickly and
noiselessly over the soft grass and in a few minutes stood before the
adventurers and regarded them with an astonishment equal to their own.
The Scarecrow was calm under all circumstances.
“Good morning!” he said, politely.
The stranger removed his hat with a flourish, bowed very low, and then
responded:
“Good morning, one and all. I hope you are, as an aggregation, enjoying
excellent health. Permit me to present my card.”
With this courteous speech it extended a card toward the Scarecrow, who
accepted it, turned it over and over, and handed it with a shake of his
head to Tip.
The boy read aloud:
“MR. H. M. WOGGLE-BUG, T. E.”
“Dear me!” ejaculated the Pumpkinhead, staring somewhat intently.
“How very peculiar!” said the Tin Woodman.
Tip’s eyes were round and wondering, and the Saw-Horse uttered a sigh
and turned away its head.
“Are you really a Woggle-Bug?” enquired the Scarecrow.
“Most certainly, my dear sir!” answered the stranger, briskly. “Is not
my name upon the card?”
“It is,” said the Scarecrow. “But may I ask what ‘H. M.’ stands for?”
“‘H. M.’ means Highly Magnified,” returned the Woggle-Bug, proudly.
“Oh, I see.” The Scarecrow viewed the stranger critically. “And are
you, in truth, highly magnified?”
“Sir,” said the Woggle-Bug, “I take you for a gentleman of judgment and
discernment. Does it not occur to you that I am several thousand times
greater than any Woggle-Bug you ever saw before? Therefore it is
plainly evident that I am Highly Magnified, and there is no good reason
why you should doubt the fact.”
“Pardon me,” returned the Scarecrow. “My brains are slightly mixed
since I was last laundered. Would it be improper for me to ask, also,
what the ‘T.E.’ at the end of your name stands for?”
“Those letters express my degree,” answered the Woggle-Bug, with a
condescending smile. “To be more explicit, the initials mean that I am
Thoroughly Educated.”
“Oh!” said the Scarecrow, much relieved.
Tip had not yet taken his eyes off this wonderful personage. What he
saw was a great, round, buglike body supported upon two slender legs
which ended in delicate feet—the toes curling upward. The body of the
Woggle-Bug was rather flat, and judging from what could be seen of it
was of a glistening dark brown color upon the back, while the front was
striped with alternate bands of light brown and white, blending
together at the edges. Its arms were fully as slender as its legs, and
upon a rather long neck was perched its head—not unlike the head of a
man, except that its nose ended in a curling antenna, or “feeler,” and
its ears from the upper points bore antennae that decorated the sides
of its head like two miniature, curling pig tails. It must be admitted
that the round, black eyes were rather bulging in appearance; but the
expression upon the Woggle-Bug’s face was by no means unpleasant.
For dress the insect wore a dark-blue swallowtail coat with a yellow
silk lining and a flower in the button-hole; a vest of white duck that
stretched tightly across the wide body; knickerbockers of fawn-colored
plush, fastened at the knees with gilt buckles; and, perched upon its
small head, was jauntily set a tall silk hat.
Standing upright before our amazed friends the Woggle-Bug appeared to
be fully as tall as the Tin Woodman; and surely no bug in all the Land
of Oz had ever before attained so enormous a size.
“I confess,” said the Scarecrow, “that your abrupt appearance has
caused me surprise, and no doubt has startled my companions. I hope,
however, that this circumstance will not distress you. We shall
probably get used to you in time.”
“Do not apologize, I beg of you!” returned the Woggle-Bug, earnestly.
“It affords me great pleasure to surprise people; for surely I cannot
be classed with ordinary insects and am entitled to both curiosity and
admiration from those I meet.”
“You are, indeed,” agreed his Majesty.
“If you will permit me to seat myself in your august company,”
continued the stranger, “I will gladly relate my history, so that you
will be better able to comprehend my unusual—may I say
remarkable?—appearance.”
“You may say what you please,” answered the Tin Woodman, briefly.
So the Woggle-Bug sat down upon the grass, facing the little group of
wanderers, and told them the following story:
A Highly Magnified History
“It is but honest that I should acknowledge at the beginning of my
recital that I was born an ordinary Woggle-Bug,” began the creature, in
a frank and friendly tone. “Knowing no better, I used my arms as well
as my legs for walking, and crawled under the edges of stones or hid
among the roots of grasses with no thought beyond finding a few insects
smaller than myself to feed upon.
“The chill nights rendered me stiff and motionless, for I wore no
clothing, but each morning the warm rays of the sun gave me new life
and restored me to activity. A horrible existence is this, but you must
remember it is the regular ordained existence of Woggle-Bugs, as well
as of many other tiny creatures that inhabit the earth.
“But Destiny had singled me out, humble though I was, for a grander
fate! One day I crawled near to a country school house, and my
curiosity being excited by the monotonous hum of the students within, I
made bold to enter and creep along a crack between two boards until I
reached the far end, where, in front of a hearth of glowing embers, sat
the master at his desk.
“No one noticed so small a creature as a Woggle-Bug, and when I found
that the hearth was even warmer and more comfortable than the sunshine,
I resolved to establish my future home beside it. So I found a charming
nest between two bricks and hid myself therein for many, many months.
“Professor Nowitall is, doubtless, the most famous scholar in the land
of Oz, and after a few days I began to listen to the lectures and
discourses he gave his pupils. Not one of them was more attentive than
the humble, unnoticed Woggle-Bug, and I acquired in this way a fund of
knowledge that I will myself confess is simply marvelous. That is why I
place ‘T.E.’ Thoroughly Educated upon my cards; for my greatest pride
lies in the fact that the world cannot produce another Woggle-Bug with
a tenth part of my own culture and erudition.”
“I do not blame you,” said the Scarecrow. “Education is a thing to be
proud of. I’m educated myself. The mess of brains given me by the Great
Wizard is considered by my friends to be unexcelled.”
“Nevertheless,” interrupted the Tin Woodman, “a good heart is, I
believe, much more desirable than education or brains.”
“To me,” said the Saw-Horse, “a good leg is more desirable than
either.”
“Could seeds be considered in the light of brains?” enquired the
Pumpkinhead, abruptly.
“Keep quiet!” commanded Tip, sternly.
“Very well, dear father,” answered the obedient Jack.
The Woggle-Bug listened patiently—even respectfully—to these remarks,
and then resumed his story.
“I must have lived fully three years in that secluded school-house
hearth,” said he, “drinking thirstily of the ever-flowing fount of
limpid knowledge before me.”
“Quite poetical,” commented the Scarecrow, nodding his head
approvingly.
“But one, day” continued the Bug, “a marvelous circumstance occurred
that altered my very existence and brought me to my present pinnacle of
greatness. The Professor discovered me in the act of crawling across
the hearth, and before I could escape he had caught me between his
thumb and forefinger.
“‘My dear children,’ said he, ‘I have captured a Woggle-Bug—a very rare